On My Way
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: Post The Blake Mysteries: Ghost Stories. Lucien has been gone for nine months now. Jean tries to soldier on as best she can. But the truth is much more complicated than anyone could imagine. A story of the struggle for faith, love, and redemption.
1. Chapter 1

**On My Way**

 _"Lucien, are you quite sure about this?" Jean asked for what felt like the thousandth time._

 _He snuggled closer to her in their bed, taking his wife in his arms and nuzzling into her hair. "I'm sure. It'll all be alright, my darling," he promised._

Jean sighed to herself as she finished her morning tea. Matthew had already gone to the station. Amy wasn't due to arrive for another hour. Jean herself didn't need to leave for the town hall until the afternoon. Her mind had wandered back to the morning, nearly nine months earlier, when Lucien had left their bed, kissing her softly, and not come home.

He'd planned it, of course. For all his haphazard running about, he always had a plan. Even if he came up with it at the spur of the moment. And Jean trusted him in that. He always figured it out, eventually. But this time, his plan to disappear—which he'd revealed to her in confidence a week before he'd gone—had thus far not gone accordingly. Oh he'd disappeared alright. His promise that it would only be a few weeks seemed almost funny now.

Except nothing about this was funny. After two months, she'd closed up the surgery and his study, unable to pass by the open doors and not see him inside. After three months, she couldn't bear to stay in their bedroom anymore. The studio was filled with boxes and locked it tight, just as it had been when Jean first arrived in the Blake house. After five months, all her friends and everyone in town treated Jean like a widow. Again. And she hated it.

She wasn't a widow again, no matter what anyone else thought. Lucien had planned to leave. She knew he'd planned it. His timing was off, certainly, but he wasn't gone for good. Jean was sure he was alive and out there and on his way back to her. How she knew, she couldn't quite explain. Lucien loved her. More than anything else, she trusted that. And he wouldn't leave her unless he had to. Even if it had been nine months since he'd left, Jean still wasn't ready to believe that he wasn't coming home.

Of course, she couldn't tell anyone that. No one else knew that Lucien intended to disappear off that bridge. Only Jean. Only Jean knew her Lucien had a plan. At least, nine months ago he'd had a plan.

* * *

Times had changed in the last six years. Small town Ballarat knew him well, now. Even in Melbourne, he was known among police circles. He'd testified in court enough that the higher ups knew him and trusted him. But after all the unpleasantness with Derek Alderton, his connections with the army and the national government weren't as friendly as they once were. Lucien Blake didn't carry much weight outside his smaller and smaller world.

The trouble was, his world wasn't really so small. He had a child in China, who had two children of her own. Mei Lin was able to go to be with Li and her family, but Lucien hadn't seen his daughter in many years now. And when he had last seen her, it had been to reunite for the first time since she was taken from him when she was small; they hadn't had a good go of it. But since then, their letters back and forth had created a stronger bond between them. And now, with things having changed so much for them both, Lucien longed to see her.

Jean had encouraged him, told him that he should see Li and his grandchildren if he could. His wife—what a thrill, even after two years of marriage, to refer to Jean that way—understood the importance of family and the pain that came from having a child so far away. And that was why, when he'd come up with his plan, risky though it was, he knew she would support him.

"I have to go away for a while, my darling," he'd told her.

She'd frowned and gotten a bit worried. "Go away where?"

"Away. I'm afraid I can't tell you much, because I don't want you to get in trouble in case anyone comes asking. But just know that I'm going to disappear, but I will come back."

"For how long?"

That, he didn't really have a firm answer to. It would take time to arrange everything. "A few weeks. Perhaps a month or so."

And then the day finally came, when Lucien left his wife with a kiss and traveled to Sydney under the guise of solving an old case. In order to truly disappear and not have anyone follow him or ask where he was going, Lucien even went so far as to fake his death. He raced after a killer to the edge of a bridge, making sure the police in tow saw him go up, and he dropped a few important things, things he wouldn't reasonably be expected to run away without, and climbed underneath the bridge to hide until everyone had gone away and he could make his escape. The killer tumbled over, which had been a lucky accident. The police would assume the two had tussled and gone off the edge and into the river together. They'd only recover one body, if they recovered any at all.

After that, Lucien was free. Free to use the falsified identification papers and forged visa and currency of many kinds to get his passage to China. Free to see his family, at last. His one regret was that Jean could not go with him, that his very heart remained in Ballarat without him.

But he had promised her. He would be coming back home. He would return to her.


	2. Chapter 2

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Blake."

Jean smiled. She couldn't help it. Being Mrs. Blake was the most beautiful thing, even still. Two years now, she'd been Mrs. Blake. Lucien had missed their wedding anniversary. He'd disappeared just two weeks before the day, and she knew he was probably disappointed to not be there. They always did such wonderful things on events such as that. Her Lucien did love a celebration, whether it was buying her extravagant gifts for her birthday, planning a romantic holiday for their anniversary, or throwing a surprise party for when she'd been elected to the council.

"Table or seat at the bar, ma'am?"

Cec's voice drew her out of her reverie. "At the bar today, I think, Cec," she replied pleasantly. She sat at one of the high barstools and ordered a shandy. It was a hot summer day, and Jean wasn't in any hurry to get home. There wasn't much waiting for her there.

"I hear you've got a big vote coming up in the Council," Cec said as he put her drink in front of her.

"Yes," she replied, "if this budget goes through like I'm hoping, we'll be able to get started on some very exciting projects." Jean positively beamed. She'd only been on the town council for about a year, but she'd not wasted any time shaking things up and pushing for her modern agenda. Jean Beazley would have never dared to think she could have a place on the council, never would have attempted it, and certainly never would have been a champion of progressivism. Jean Beazley had known her place, followed the rules of conservative little Ballarat and the Catholic Church. But Jean Blake had seen the wider world, had been inspired by the possibilities available. There was so much more their town could be, and Jean wanted to be the one to help push it forward, embracing new ideas while holding on to the rich tradition of their community.

Cec Drury chuckled pleasantly, visibly proud of the way Jean had blossomed. She had experienced so much heartache all her life. Long-suffering Jean, he'd often thought of her. But Cec had been the master of ceremonies at her wedding with Doctor Blake, and he had been lucky enough to witness her looking so resplendent. And in the months after they had returned from their honeymoon, Cec hadn't seen an unhappy look on her face at all. But now the doctor was gone, and Jean was alone again. At least she had a new position in the Council and, in her small way, helping the police as Doctor Blake had before her. She seemed to be doing alright. But still, Cec worried for her. The Blakes had struggled so hard to find their happiness together, only to have it dashed so soon.

"And how are you doing, Cec? Everything alright?" Jean asked pleasantly.

"Oh you know me, Mrs. Blake, I'm always alright."

"Yes, of course you are." She smiled knowingly. Jean knew that she and Cec had always been of the same ilk. Head always held high, the strong dignity that came from a life in service to others. Jean knew how different her position had made her—for the better, she believed. But a part of her would always remember being the Ballarat farmgirl, the efficient housekeeper, the widow with her hidden ambition. And no matter what anyone said, Jean had to believe she'd never be that way again.

* * *

The journey to China had not been without its difficulties, but he had made it. Rather behind schedule, and with no way of getting word to Jean, who he wished he could tell he'd be gone a bit longer than planned, or to Li and her family, who he knew were expecting him.

But the moment he had arrived at the address he'd been writing letters to for years, Lucien felt the weight of all the stress of nearly three weeks of travel melt away. Li opened the door and immediately leapt into his arms. "Papa!" she cried, hugging him tight.

Lucien held his daughter close, both of them crying with the emotion of finally being together. He had thought very seriously that he would never see his daughter again. Being with her now and holding her in his arms with a depth of feeling they had not shared on his last trip to China, Lucien felt truly blessed.

Li chattered away in Chinese. Lucien took a moment to become reacquainted with the language after so long, but he followed just fine.

Before they could even get settled, Mei Lin appeared, holding a baby, with a little girl tugging at her dress. "Lucien!" she greeted happily. "I am so pleased you finally made it!"

The two former spouses shared a friendly embrace and exchanged pleasantries in English. "But who is this?" he asked, stroking the baby's cheek with his finger.

"This is Yu, Papa," Li introduced. "He is my son."

Mei Lin explained, "His name means shining light. It was the closest we could find to Lucien."

He was immediately overwhelmed, that his daughter who had been lost to him for so much of her life, who had interacted with him more in letters than anything else, had wanted to name her son after him. But rather than break down over it at that moment, he turned his attention to the shy little girl cowering behind her grandmother. "And this must be little Mei." He bent down and spoke softly in Chinese to his young granddaughter.

"This is Gong-Gong," Li explained gently. "Lao-Lao has told you about him, you remember?"

Every so tentatively, little Mei allowed her grandfather to greet her. She was very quiet and shy, so Lucien tried not to press. She was very attached to Mei Lin, it seemed, who encouraged her to give Lucien a chance.

Later in the evening, Li introduced her father to her husband, Song. Song was a police officer, interestingly enough. Lucien had all kinds of questions for him about how things differed from what he was used to in Australia. Song was wary, at first, of his wife's father, this white man with strange custom and manner of speaking, but Lucien's charm won him over quite quickly.

Within that first day in his daughter's house, Lucien was welcomed with open arms. It felt wonderful to be with his family. His own family, for the first time. Oh he had his family of sorts in Ballarat, with Matthew and Alice and Charlie and the rest. But this was this flesh and blood. And though they looked nothing like him, though their language was one he needed to concentrate on in order to communicate, he felt at peace here with them.

"Papa, how long can you stay?" Li asked excitedly.

Lucien smiled. "A while." For in truth, he had no answer to that question. He wanted to stay long enough to get to know his grandchildren, to reconnect with his daughter and son-in-law, to give all of them memories to last a lifetime. This would be his only opportunity, he knew. And he wanted to make the most of it.


	3. Chapter 3

For the first time since she'd used the chalkboard to try to solve the Stanton House murders, Jean entered Lucien's surgery. She wasn't quite sure what drew her there, but the urge to enter that room overpowered her. And she was flooded with memories.

Memories of injuring her hand when those horrible people pushed her to the ground as she defended Jack and Lucien patching her up. That had been one of the first times, really, when she'd felt something for him. More than just a housekeeper for her employer. More than a friend. The soft touch of his hand as he cleaned and dressed her wound was so gentle and affectionate and almost erotic.

Memories of spending late nights with Mattie and Lucien trying to solve a mystery, often all of them in their dressing gowns. She would be bare-faced with her hair in curlers, and Lucien never seemed to look at her any differently. No matter what she looked like, he respected her and sought her opinion on anything and everything. That was what made them such good friends. That was what made her so certain he was a man she wanted to love.

Memories of sitting with him at the desk while they shared his scotch and tried to figure out how to handle the issue of his divorce. That had been a dark time, filling Jean with so much doubt for their future. That Lucien loved her and wanted to marry her was never in question. But how could she, an upstanding devout Catholic widow, ever even hope to marry a man whose wife still lived and breathed? Never mind that Mei Lin and Lucien both equally agreed that their marriage was decades in the past. The Church would not see Jean marry the man she loved, and he would not confide in her his plans to make it come about. He'd nearly ruined his entire career and reputation over it, publicly professing to his drunkenness. After he'd worked so hard to be the man Jean was proud to stand beside, he was content to throw it back in her face. All because he was so desperate to marry her. All because his love for her blinded him to the true consequences of his choices.

"Auntie Jean?"

She turned abruptly, wiping unshed tears from her eyes. "Amy, good morning."

Amy Parks slowly entered the room, looking warily at the sheets covering all the furniture in the shadows of the surgery. "What are you doing in here? I didn't know this door even opened."

Jean took a moment to swallow back the lump in her throat. "This is Doctor Blake's surgery," she explained. "When I worked as a housekeeper here, it was run by the Thomas Blake, Lucien's father, and then by Lucien himself after he returned to Ballarat all those years ago."

"Oh yeah, I remember old Doctor Blake. Used to do house calls to the farm. I don't think Mum ever brought us here."

"No, I don't suppose she would have. Danny lived here for a time, when he was a constable in Ballarat."

Amy snorted, "Why would you want that little prick running around underfoot?"

Jean glared slightly at her. "He might be your brother, but he's also my nephew, and Lucien worked with him quite a bit on the police force. And Lucien liked having boarders. He had no family of his own for the longest time. He liked having life filling the house. And it was best, at the time, that he and I not share the house alone."

"Bit of a scandal, Auntie Jean?" Amy teased.

"I think it might have been," Jean replied softly. She leaned back against the desk and looked at her shoes. So many memories. So much time she wasted, being afraid of what other people would say, hiding the truth of her heart from herself for longer than was at all wise. And now she may have wasted the little precious time they did have. Nine months was a lot longer than a few weeks or so.

"Are you gonna sell this stuff, then?" Amy asked her, interrupting her morose thoughts.

It was Jean's immediate reaction to scold her for thinking such a thing, but Amy didn't know any better. She was a pragmatic girl, thanks to her rather unsavory life experiences. "No," Jean eventually replied softly. "No, it can stay. It should stay."

Amy was quiet for a moment before finally breaking the awkward silence. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"You've always been smart and strong and independent but sort of a square. No offence."

Jean chuckled. She probably did seem that way to Amy. "Yes?"

"Well, from what I hear about Doctor Blake, you wouldn't have given him the time of day. How'd you end up married?"

The tears threatened in Jean's eyes again, but she blinked them back. "Oh Amy, you two would get on like a house on fire. He'd absolutely adore everything about you. Because that's really the thing about Lucien, why he had so much trouble finding his way. He always sees the best in everyone. Never takes anything at face value. He sees the intelligence and the strength and the pain and love inside someone's heart, when all the rest of us might just see a stern housekeeper or a juvenile offender or an easy suspect in a murder investigation. Lucien sees beyond all that. He has a depth of compassion that never fails to surprise me." Jean's heart expanded to speak about the man she loved so passionately. It wasn't often she was allowed to talk about him anymore. No one wanted to hear it. It just made them sad and look at her with pity. But Amy didn't know Lucien. She'd been in jail most of the time Jean had looked after Lucien's house, and she was released on probation while they went on their honeymoon. Jean had hoped to introduce her husband and her niece when Amy was allowed to leave Melbourne and return to Ballarat, but the timing hadn't worked out.

Amy watched Jean with slight confusion on her face. "You talk about him like he's still here."

Jean nearly slapped the girl across the face for her unfeeling words, but she resisted. It wasn't Amy's fault. She didn't know. Jean let out a slow breath to calm herself down. "To me, he is. To me, he's still here."

And then it was all Jean could do to hold herself together and walk out the door.

* * *

Lucien had wondered when it would happen. There was no doubt in his mind that it would. Despite their years apart and the differences time had created, Lucien still knew Mei Lin. And he knew she couldn't resist.

It happened a few weeks into his visit. There was a park nearby Li's house where Mei liked to play. Li and Song were working that day in early May, and it was springtime in China. Lucien and Mei Lin sat on a bench beneath a beautiful flowering tree. He had baby Yu in his arms, coaxing the young lad to his nap.

"How is your wife?" Mei Lin asked.

And Lucien nearly laughed. She had always been a very curious woman, always wanting to learn and always asking questions. That intelligence and inquisitive nature was very much a part of what had first attracted them to each other in their other lifetime in Singapore. "My wife is absolutely incredible," Lucien replied with a smile.

"I saw that you wear a wedding ring now. You didn't when I was in Ballarat with you."

"You may recall that I was informed that you had died during the war. For all I knew, I was a widower," he reminded her.

"Jean's husband died during the war. She wore her wedding ring still," Mei Lin pointed out.

"Yes, well, that was different," he replied coldly.

"But she is your wife now? You were finally able to marry?"

Lucien softened. "Yes, we were. It was made much more difficult when you wouldn't petition for the divorce, but we got it all sorted."

Mei Lin nodded. "I did sign the papers, admitting to your alcoholism. That was much better than the alternative, Lucien, and you know it. I could not say that you were unfaithful. After all of Jean's kindness, I could not publicly accuse her of adultery."

"You wouldn't have been accusing her in particular, just me."

She was becoming cross now. "And as I explained in my letter, everyone would have assumed that you committed adultery with her! Jean is a good woman and does not deserve that, Lucien."

The baby was starting to fuss a bit. Lucien shushed Mei Lin and calmed Yu down again. "I know she doesn't," he finally replied. "She didn't deserve most of the heartache I put her through. But she's stood by me through all of it. I was nearly stabbed to death a few months before our wedding, actually. She held my hand in the hospital and changed my bandages at home. She stood in front of a madman's gun to protect me."

Mei Lin scoffed, "You don't deserve her."

"No, you're right," he agreed. "I am luckier than I have any right to be. And actually I missed our second anniversary in coming here."

"You could have waited."

Lucien shook his head. "No, I needed to make the journey when I could. Travel is difficult, now. The world is growing and shrinking at a rapid pace. Everything's more complicated than it used to be. And I doubt if I'll ever be able to come back. I needed to see Li and meet her children while I could."

"And what does Jean say to all that?"

"She understands. She has two sons of her own. One in the army with a little girl about Mei's age, and the other is…well, Jack is his own man. But Jean always asks how Li and everyone here is doing whenever a letter form her arrives. She knows the importance of family."

Mei Lin was quiet for a moment. She watched little Mei running with the other children. She leaned over and gently pushed Yu's dark hair from his pale little face. "It is thanks to you that I can be here with them, Lucien. I will always be grateful for that."

"I'm glad you can be here when I can't."

She gave him a sad smile. "You have a life of your own with a good woman who loves you. You'd best get back to her."

"I intend to," Lucien agreed.

"When does she expect you?"

"Soon."

"Then you had better begin planning your journey home. Don't make her wait too long."

Lucien merely nodded. In his mind and in his heart, he was already on his way back to Jean. Jean who took care of him, Jean who challenged him, Jean who loved him. He missed her more than he could bear, some days. It had been almost two months since he'd kissed her goodbye the morning he'd travelled up to Sydney. Far too long to be without her. But soon. Very soon, he'd see her again.


	4. Chapter 4

Jean woke up feeling exhausted. She just wanted to roll over and curl up and go back to sleep, taking in the comfort of her old bed.

She'd been sleeping in her bedroom upstairs with its pretty pink walls that had been her solace in all her years living and working in the Blake house. When it had been her home but not _her_ house. The distinction may have been just semantics, but it certainly made a difference to her. When she could no longer bear the cold empty bed in the studio that she had shared with her husband, she sought refuge here in her old room. Usually, it was easy to wake up in the morning, full of purpose for whatever was waiting for her that day, to dress and fix her hair and makeup, to go downstairs and fix breakfast for herself and Matthew.

Today, however, felt different. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. The summer sun of December was already bright outside, but Jean felt storm clouds cover her. She kept her eyes shut tight and tried to run through what today had in store, what she needed to prepare herself to face.

The date struck her quite suddenly. She'd realized it yesterday, looking at the calendar, and the memory hit her squarely, causing her eyes to snap open.

It was three years to the day since Jean had stood in front of Lucien and shouted at Norman Baker to shoot her first, because without Lucien, she'd have nothing left. And in reality, that hadn't been the case. She had quite a lot left. She was on the Council, and she was looking after Matthew and Alice and Amy, just as she'd always looked after those in her life. And Matthew was trying to look after her, in his way, because it's what Lucien would have wanted. But it wasn't the same. None of it was the way things were supposed to be. And her words to Norman Baker, daring him to shoot her, felt all too real once again. She may have had plenty in her life, but Jean herself felt like an empty husk when she had been given a short taste of passionate love and overwhelming happiness only to have it snatched from her clutches.

Jean had been holding on to Lucien's promise that he'd return. She had put all her faith in his plan to disappear for a little while and then come back to her after a few weeks or a month or so. But that timeline had come and gone so very long ago now.

Eventually, Jean did get up and start her day. She was sullen and quiet, and she avoided socializing as much as she could. There was no Council meeting today, thank goodness. She spent the day in the garden, trying to protect some of her flowers from the heat. Her aloe plant was doing quite well, which did bring her some comfort. And that gave her an idea.

Late that night, after Matthew had gone to bed and the sun had finally set and darkness turned Ballarat still and quiet, Jean left the house and drove the well-worn streets she'd travelled more times than she could count, though never once in the last two years. She parked in her old familiar place and walked past Sacred Heart to the churchyard. Jean knew the way by heart, not needing anything but the pale light of the moon to guide her path.

She glanced around, making sure there was no one around. It wouldn't do for anyone to see her here now. When she was confident she was alone, Jean crouched down and placed a shaking hand on the fading letters of the gravestone.

"Hello, Christopher," she murmured. "I know it's been quite a long time since I've been by to visit. And certainly you know why, I'm sure. I'm only here now because I have no one else to talk to. Not about this. I've tried so hard to put the past behind me, to not dwell on everything that came before. I was so happy."

Jean's voice cracked as the tears began to fall.

But she soldiered on, knowing it was time she admitted these things out loud, if to no one but herself. "I was so happy with him. I was so happy to find a new life. I loved you, Christopher, you know I did, even if sometimes you weren't sure. Even if our life together began with a mistake and a tragedy, that bound us together. But our life was so small. It was a good one, and I loved you and our boys and our farm. And I would have been happy to have just that forever. But you were gone and I had to move on. And I did, and it took me so long to let go of everything before, but I found Lucien."

She pressed her fingers to her lips. Her voice was harsh and hoarse, her tears flowing unchecked down her cheeks.

"He opened my heart and my mind and my world. He gave me more than I ever believed was possible, and oh god, I love him so much. Every day that he's gone, there's an ache inside me that I can't avoid. And no one knows that he meant to go. He meant to disappear, and he promised he'd come back."

The last words were caught in her throat. Jean hadn't allowed herself to think those words in nine long months, but it had indeed been nine long months, and she needed to speak them now.

"He's been gone for so long, and I don't think he's coming back. I don't know if he changed his mind or if he's trapped somewhere or if he really did tumble over that bridge to his death. I don't know, but I think I have to start thinking about putting another marker on another empty grave for another husband who left me too soon."

And that was all she could manage. The sobs wracked her body so violently, Jean thought she might be sick. It was all painfully real now. The hope was gone. Lucien was gone.

* * *

"Gong-Gong, do you have to go?" Mei whined. Lucien held his granddaughter in his arms and kissed her cheek as he said his goodbyes.

"Yes, I'm afraid I do. But I will write you letters all the time," he promised.

"And one day I can come see you?" she asked, her dark eyes alight with youthful optimism.

Lucien kissed her again. "I would love that. Maybe one day you can come to Ballarat and see me." The odds of it were slim to none, he knew, but he would not dash her young hopes.

He shook Song's hand, wishing him well. He gave Mei Lin a friendly hug and patted baby Yu on his crying and wailing cheek. And at last, he took his beautiful daughter in his arms and hugged her tight.

"Thank you, Papa," she whispered through her tears.

Lucien pulled back and wiped her cheeks. "Don't cry, my flower," he said, using the endearment he'd used for her as a small child. "You have a beautiful life here, but I am not a part of it. I am blessed to have gotten to share in your family joy for a little while. But you know that no matter how far away I am, I will always love you and I will always do whatever I can for you."

"I know, Papa," Li replied, hugging him again. "I love you."

Mei Lin saw Lucien's eyes begin to well up and hastened him to leave before he couldn't. "You have a boat to catch, Lucien. Don't you dare leave your wife waiting for much longer."

He blinked his tears away and forced a smile. "Yes, I know. I'll write once I'm back home. I've got passage all the way back to Sydney. The boat stops in the Philippines and then on to New Guinea and finally back to Australia. Without any weather delays, I should be home in about a month. Bit longer than I told Jean I'd be away, but June isn't too far off. And I know she'll be delighted to hear about all of you."

"Send her my regards," Mei Lin added with a nod.

"I will." And with one final hug to everyone, Lucien was on his way.

He had not intended to spend the last of his money on a steamship fare, but the boat was fast and guaranteed passage to Sydney in no more than twenty-five could go to the bank there to replenish his funds. Another day by train to Melbourne and then a short bus trip to Ballarat. Home by Queen's Birthday. A bit overdue from when he wanted to be home, but he couldn't have predicted the problems customs gave him on his way out of Australia and into China. And, of course, faking his death had made the whole thing a hell of a lot harder as well.

Lucien reached the port and boarded his ship just in time. He stood on the bow, looking out onto the open sea in front of him and breathed in the ocean air. "I'm coming home, Jean," he whispered to the breeze. "I'm on my way."


	5. Chapter 5

Once she'd admitted aloud, if just to herself and to Christopher, that she had become a widow once again, Jean felt strangely light. Freer, somehow. As though her hope was weighing her down, following her like a lead weight around her ankle. She should have known better, for she had carried that same weight from Christopher, clinging desperately to the remnants of her life however she could, preventing herself from moving forward. But not this time.

And strangely, there was only one person that she wanted to commiserate with, now that she'd decided to commit herself to moving on. Jean called and invited her for tea.

Susan Tyneman had become a strange figure in Ballarat. In the years since her son and her husband died, right before Jean and Lucien were wed, Susan had shied away from the high society she once ruled over. She had taken over most of Patrick's business interests, and she ran them efficiently and without much fuss. Unlike her deceased husband, Susan had no desire to micromanage every single little thing. It was Patrick's ego that had caused him to be that way, and Susan wanted only to protect her husband's legacy; she could do that perfectly well from an office and over the telephone.

As it was, she worked from home as much as possible and had turned into something of a recluse. She rarely left the Tyneman mansion, if she could help it. But when Jean Blake called to invite her for tea, Susan readily agreed. Her driver parked in front of the Blake house and waited outside while Susan went in.

"Jean, it was so good of you to call!" Susan gushed, embracing her warmly.

This was one thing Jean would never, ever get used to. The wealthy and well-to-do in Ballarat had never paid Jean Beazley much attention. They'd not really paid Jean Blake much attention either, for Lucien had shunned most of the societal functions that would have otherwise been expected of someone of his position. But when Jean left the Church, she'd lost many of her old friends. When she'd returned from her world travels with Lucien, she had very few people in town she much related to anymore, outside of the select few who had always been close to Lucien and her, like Alice and Matthew. And when she'd gotten her seat on the Council, the men bristled at her ambition and the women scorned her for not keeping to her place. Jean herself may have been one of those women, once upon a time. But times change. People change. And now the wealthy and powerful clamored for her attention.

Jean led Susan in through to the parlor where she had the tea things all set. "What a lovely spread," Susan complimented.

"I haven't done much entertaining in a while, I'm afraid. I've been so busy," Jean lied. She hadn't entertained because no one wanted to come over unless it was to pity her or give sideways glances at her insistence that Matthew Lawson continue to live in her house. And Jean didn't need any of that, thank you very much. "But I wanted to have you over, Susan. It's been far too long. I know you've been frightfully busy as well." It felt nice, somehow. Sad but rather nice, having another recent widow with her, someone who had everything in her marriage and had her whole world ripped to pieces. Jean had already come through so much, but it would be somehow rather comforting to have someone who understood, just a little.

"I try to keep busy, yes. It's the only thing that really helps, I've found. You know what I mean," Susan replied offhandedly.

Jean took a sip of her tea. "Yes," she answered softly. "I know what you mean."

* * *

The boat shoved off from China not an hour after Lucien had made his way to his cabin. Horribly small, barely above the waterline, but it was a bed and a room to call his own for just over three weeks. He'd be alright.

Famous last words.

In Manila, the ship docked to refuel and refresh supplies, as was planned. What was not planned, however, was having three surly sailors enter his room in the dark of night, beat him, and throw him overboard as the ship left without him.

He was able to swim to shore, thankfully, and haul himself onto the dock. But all he had were the clothes on his back. No money, no identification, nothing. And, to make matters worse, he was supposed to be dead. Even if he wanted to go to a consulate or to the police, he couldn't.

With absolutely nothing left for him, Lucien slept on the streets that night. He found the dockmaster and used what Tagalog he still retained to practically beg for some work. The gray in his beard caught the man off-guard and he turned Lucien away with a laugh. But Lucien would not be deterred. He stripped off his shirt, down to his singlet, and lifted a huge crate, showing off his muscles and his ability to use them. The man was suitably impressed. He gave Lucien a position making a scant amount of money but it included a meal each day. Lucien got straight to work.

He knew he'd need the job for a while. How long, he wasn't sure. He spoke to a booking agency and with his earnings, even if he continued to sleep on the street, it would be another six months before he was able to afford passage to Australia. But maybe he didn't need to get to Australia just yet. Maybe he just needed to get a bit closer.

His hair and beard were growing unkempt, his body ached constantly, his hands were cracked and calloused. The food and water he received were barely enough to keep him alive. If it weren't for the abundance of fresh air and the blessed lack of torture, Lucien would have thought he was back in the camp. He wasn't as young as he'd once been, and though his spirit were stronger, his body was not. And after six weeks, he worried he would break his back before he could find a way out.

But his chance came. He was chatting with a Filipino merchant, loading up his newest cargo. The merchant, Ernesto was his name, seemed amused by Lucien, this strong but wise old man. Baka, the dockworkers called him, Tagalog for ox. And in exchange for his service aboard the ship, Ernesto agreed to bring Baka along to Indonesia.


	6. Chapter 6

There was some whispering across the table. Whispering wasn't good. Jean didn't like whispering.

She'd been on the Council almost a year now. Her election had been rather hard fought and her win a surprise to nearly everyone. Everyone except Lucien. He had always held her in such high regard. "You are the most intelligent person I've ever known, and you have impeccable manners and your kindness is unrivaled. Anyone would be damned lucky to have you represent them on the Council, and anyone who doesn't vote for you is a fool," he had said. And after he kept saying it so many times, Jean actually started to believe it.

But being on the Council was something else entirely. She thought her church sewing circle had been full of gossips, but those ladies had nothing on the manipulative, underhanded bastards on the Council with her. The Lord Mayor Bruce Beatie was worst of all.

In this, as in all things, however, Jean held her head high and did her duty with as much strength and grace as she could muster. She had appealed to every single one of those men to support her measure, and in the end, she'd gotten enough support on her side. And now it was finally time for the vote. The vote to repeal the antiquated and wholly unfair Ballarat ordinance that required a man to be named on any and all business licenses in town. Never mind if a smart, savvy woman ran things. Her name could not be associated in town records.

It was Lucien who had brought the issue to her attention, all those months ago. It took time to find the source and reasoning for it, time to craft her argument in support of repealing it, time to get the others on side.

"And now to the matter of Mrs. Blake's proposal to repeal Ballarat Ordinance number 2597," the mayor announced.

Around the table they went, each man voting aye or nay. Jean voted aye in a strong, clear voice, feeling ever so proud to do so. As they went around, some votes she had counted on had swayed. And in the end, her measure passed. By one single vote.

Jean was ecstatic. She didn't care that no one else in the room was at all interested. Jean could leave the chamber and go down the hall and tell Charlotte McCutcheon that she could meet with the registrar and obtain a business license for the cafe she wanted to open on the high street.

And though she wouldn't let herself think about it too hard, for fear it might break her heart, Jean couldn't help but imagine her husband with that beautiful happy smile he often reserved for her. He would be so proud, her Lucien. He would have shouted from the rooftops that his wife had made a great progressive stride for Ballarat that day. He would have kissed her and told her he loved her and just beamed with pride.

* * *

By the time Lucien arrived in Jakarta, he was nearly broken beyond repair. His body had been beaten down by the labor forced upon him as payment for his ship passage. He hobbled to shore, barely able to stand. His hands were raw and cracked and bleeding. His back was so sore, he nearly wept with every movement. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper bath or eaten a real meal. Ernesto had known that the Baka was desperate and had exploited the tired old ox for everything he had.

And now, stranded in an unfamiliar country with a language he barely understood and absolutely no means to support himself, Lucien Blake was in dire straits indeed.

As much as it galled his dignity to do it, he was reduced to begging on the streets. Some passersby took pity on him, tossing him a few coins. And though he was left to sleep in the streets in the hot, rainy, humid climate, at least with his paltry sum he could buy a bit of food, just enough to keep him going.

He huddled on a stoop for a reprieve from the rain and quietly contemplated his fate. Lucien Blake would not die here, a homeless beggar in Jakarta. He would not allow his circumstances to defeat him. Though he was battered and worn, though he was hungry and tired and sickly, he was still alive. And while he was alive, he would keep going. He was on his way home, home to his wife who loved him more than he ever deserved.

Lucien closed his eyes and pictured Jean's face. The fullness of her lips. The softness of her skin. The arch of her brow. The sharp curve of her cheekbones. The lines around her eyes and mouth indicating where she'd laughed and cried all her life. And the turquoise-gray stare of her wide, expressive eyes. It had been more than six months since he'd seen those eyes. He dreamt of them every night.

When he was nearly out of hope, torn between begging for death to put him out of his misery and pleading for strength to return home, Lucien's prayers were miraculously answered. He heard English being spoken on one of the streets where he was pitifully curled up in his rags. And not only was it English, it was an Aussie accent.

Lucien scrambled to his feet as best he could. The weeks resting, such that it was, had helped him heal. He could walk again, though he was still very weak. He followed the men, using old spy techniques to avoid detection. By eavesdropping, he found out that these men were sailors on an enormous cargo ship. And their next port was Darwin. A long way off from Ballarat, but it was Australia.

As discreetly as he could, Lucien snuck aboard the Australian ship Clair Crouch. He crept through the bowels of the vessel to the cargo hold. Mercifully, it was carrying agricultural exports. A few coconuts and some rice wouldn't be missed, and it would keep him alive on the journey. How long it would be before they arrived in Darwin, he couldn't be sure, but he doubted it would be less than a week.

For days and nights, each one bleeding indistinguishably from the other, Lucien slept and ate what he could from the hold and drank coconut milk. Sailors came down to the hold from time to time, but never really explored deep inside where Lucien remained hidden. He could feel the hum of the engines, ensuring that the ship was moving and continuing its course. And then, quite unexpectedly, they rumbled to a stop.

Immediately, he picked himself up and scurried to find a means of escape. Luckily, he was able to carry something heavy—using nearly the last of his strength to do it—and disembark from the ship unnoticed.

And as soon as he was able, Lucien hid behind a building and fell to his knees to kiss the ground of his homeland. He wasn't home yet, but he'd reached Australia. He'd reached the ground that connected him to Ballarat, would connect him to Jean. There was a spring breeze in the air, a gift of the southern hemisphere, and life was bursting around him on every blooming tree. He was renewed in his energy and his commitment. He was on his way home.


	7. Chapter 7

"Thank you for having lunch with me in the morgue, Jean," Alice said between bites of her sandwich. "You always try to drag me out, but I just didn't have the time today and I did want to see you."

Jean nodded. "No, this is perfect, Alice. I appreciate the quiet."

Alice regarded her friend carefully, and Jean could almost hear the gears turning in her odd, intelligent mind. At last Alice took the plunge and asked, "Is everything alright, Jean? You've seemed at bit quieter than usual this week."

"It is difficult with the holiday coming up." And it was. This would be her first Christmas without Lucien in a number of years. The first of many, it would seem.

"We'll have to make it festive, then," Alice reasoned.

Jean still wasn't sure what she wanted. Matthew had insisted they get a Christmas tree. He'd decorated it himself. The first ornament Jean had taken from the box had been the one that Lucien told her stories about, stories of being a little boy in that house and helping his mother decorate the tree with those same beautiful ornaments. And the wave of sadness that crashed over her had been too much to bear; she made an excuse about starting dinner and escaped into the kitchen to try to hold back her tears.

For the last two weeks, the tree had stood proudly in the parlor, mocking Jean with its joyful red and green tinsel. She hadn't felt a single bit of holiday cheer this year, and the thought of hosting her friends at home did not hold the appeal it usually did.

Jean decided to put the topic of Christmas aside for the time being. "Alice, I want to wait until the one-year mark," she stated.

"Wait until the one-year mark for what?"

"A…a memorial. When it's been a whole year since he's been gone, we'll do it then."

Alice looked at her friend with wide, sad eyes. That was surely the last thing she'd expected Jean to say. Jean had tried so hard to stay strong, to carry on as though Lucien were just off on a weekend away and not missing and presumed dead for nine months. But the reality hit her square in the eyes now. And it was time she started to deal with things.

When Alice didn't answer right away, Jean continued, "Will you say a few words? After working with him for so many years, you have a unique perspective. And I know he loved you like a sister." Lord in heaven, it hurt her to speak about him in the past tense. But she needed to get used to it.

"Of course I will," Alice replied. She placed a comforting hand on Jean's forearm. "Of course I'll do whatever you need. And for what it's worth, I loved him like a brother. He's quite honestly the best friend I've ever had. The first true friend I'd ever had, actually."

Jean felt an overwhelming urge to hug Alice tightly, but she refrained. That would be too demonstrative, too much for today. Instead, all she said was, "Thank you," in a sad, quiet voice.

* * *

Lucien had travelled all around Australia. He'd seen all the major cities and much of the countryside. But his country was unspeakably large, and he hadn't intended on spending nearly three weeks walking and hitchhiking through the Northern Territory. Darwin seemed to be nearly the only civilization around. He'd been able to ride in the back of a truck for a few hours, then walked until he found another kind driver to take him a bit further. He slept rough most nights. He was certainly used to it by now. But the weather was growing hotter, and Lucien wasn't certain how much longer he could reasonably survive out in the elements, with the temperatures scorching in the desert and the wildlife threatening him at every turn.

He eventually made it to the small oasis of Alice Springs. Alice. He smiled. By now, presumably, she'd been named police surgeon. Lucien hoped she was taking to it well, integrating better into the world rather than hiding away in her morgue.

"I need another penicillin shot!"

Lucien's thoughts were interrupted by the shouting of a woman in front of the druggist where he'd been trying to stay out of the way, like any good vagabond.

"I already told you, Mrs. Hitchens, Danny doesn't need more than one! The rash will clear, and he'll be fine!" the chemist insisted.

The young woman had the door slammed in her face. She hung her head and walked away. Unable to help himself, Lucien inserted himself into the situation. "Excuse me, Mrs. Hitchens, is it? Why do you think you need penicillin?"

The young woman looked utterly scandalized by a man dressed in dirty rags with a dirty beard speaking to her.

Lucien continued, "I know I don't look it, but I'm a doctor, and I'd like to help if I can. Is it your son who's sick?"

Mrs. Hitchens hesitated, but replied, "Yes, my boy Danny is nearly six and he's got a rash and his neck is swollen and he's got a fever. And the chemist gave him a penicillin shot two days ago and nothing's changed."

"May I see Danny?" Lucien asked her. "Based on what you've said, there are a few things that might be wrong, none of which would be helped at all by penicillin."

"If you're a doctor, why do you look like that?" she asked sharply.

"I've been travelling a long time. I haven't got any money or any way to get home, so I've been walking most of the way. And if I could have a shower and a glass of water, I would be happy to help your boy as best I can. I know you have no reason to trust me, Mrs. Hitchens, but I assure you, I was educated as a surgeon in Edinburgh and I served in Singapore, and I have a medical practice out of my home that I am desperate to return to. I am qualified," he promised.

Mrs. Hitchens looked him up and down and finally conceded. "You bathe first. Outside with the pump. I'll bring you some soap. And when you're clean, you can see Danny." It seemed she was nearly as desperate as he was.

Lucien followed the kind woman to her home and bathed in the back of her house. She even brought him some of her husband's old work clothes to replace the tattered remains of his trousers and shirt. His hair and beard were still unkempt, but at least he was clean.

The young boy, Danny, was not in a good way at all, it turned out. Somehow, the poor child had contracted both mumps and rubella. Lucien had some home remedies that would assist in reducing the fever and making Danny comfortable while the swelling of his lymph nodes went down. Lucien must have proved his worth to Mrs. Hitchens, for she allowed him to remain at young Danny's bedside for three days, despite her husband's protests.

Lucien was fed three square meals a day while he was in the Hitchens house. He slept in a chair beside Danny's bed, keeping watch over his ever-changing symptoms. And finally, the fever broke. The swelling dissipated. And little Danny Hitchens was right as rain once again. Lucien stayed on another day to make sure the illnesses had passed. He told Danny stories about his nephew, a police officer named Danny who survived a terrifying snake bite. He told Mr. and Mrs. Hitchens of his daughter and her family in China, and of the wife he missed so very much back in Ballarat.

The Hitchens family was so grateful for the care that Lucien provided to their boy that they insisted on repaying him. Lucien couldn't accept, not when they had already graciously fed and housed him for almost a whole week. In the end, he did accept the greatest gift he could have received from them.

"I've got to go to Mildura for business," Mr. Hitchens explained. "Let me pay your train fare to come with me."

Lucien nearly broke down in tears. Mildura was just over the border into Victoria. He was so close.


	8. Chapter 8

"Matthew, can I have a word?" Jean asked, wringing her hands on the dishtowel when she'd finished the washing up after dinner.

"Of course, Jean." He leaned on his cane by the kitchen door, pausing to turn back to her.

She hesitated before saying anything.

But Matthew saw the distressed look on her face and crossed back toward her. "What is it?"

"I don't think I can bear it, Matthew," she said in a rather harsh whisper.

In a wash of compassionate understanding, he merely placed a gentle hand on her arm and nodded. "A quiet Christmas."

"I don't want to have you all caught up in my sadness, though. You should…you should go out. The Club always puts on a lovely party on Christmas Eve. Take Alice. For me," Jean insisted.

"You shouldn't be on your own."

"No, I'd rather have some time alone. I don't want to push you out of the house, but…"

"It's fine," he replied firmly. "I'll talk to Alice. We'll keep out of your hair the next day or two."

Tears welled up in Jean's eyes, but she blinked them back. "Thank you, Matthew."

"And if you want some company, all you have to do is call. We'll be right over," he promised.

"I'm all a mess, I'm afraid. The best thing you can do for me is go out and have a really happy Christmas. I know Lucien would want it that way. A happy celebration. Maybe next year we can have everyone over again like we used to," Jean reasoned.

Matthew nodded. "Of course. Whatever you like."

With that, Matthew hobbled out to the parlor to sit and read for a while. Jean remained alone in the kitchen. She knew that Lucien would want a big, boisterous holiday, like the ones they'd had in years past. Surrounded by friends and family, wine flowing and Jean's never-ending delicious treats to feed them all. There was always music and laughter in the house on Christmas, to make up for all the years her husband had been all alone.

But she just couldn't do it this year. She certainly didn't feel like celebrating anything. It had only been four days since she'd had her startling realization that he really was gone and not coming back. Only four days she'd felt like a proper widow. He may have been gone for nine months, but she'd only been grieving for four days. And in a rather twisted way, Jean wanted to remain in her sadness for a little while. Just some quiet time alone in her house to miss him. To cry and hug his jumpers and drink his scotch and just miss him. Perhaps that wasn't the way Lucien would want to be honored, but for Jean, it was what she needed to do. And at this time in her life, with all she'd been through and all she'd conquered and all she'd changed, she wouldn't force herself to smile and carry on with her head high and placate those around her. She'd done enough of that. She would remember her husband in her own way and in her own time. And surely he couldn't fault her for that.

* * *

In Mildura, Lucien was able to find work at the railway station. He'd regained much of his strength from his injuries en route to Jakarta, particularly after having a few square meals at the Hitchens house. He still looked a fright, but at least he was mildly clean and could load and unload luggage, and the porter took pity on him, sleeping on a bench at the station, and allowed him to spend the nights in the storage office.

Summer was fast approaching in Australia. Before he knew it, Melbourne Cup Day had arrived. Lucien was invited to listen to the horse races with the station manager. He smiled truly and properly for the first time in a long, long while. It felt like home. Well, not quite. But close.

Lucien considered sending a letter to Jean, telling her he was on his way, but decided against it. He had no way of knowing when he'd be able to get back, and he didn't want to get her hopes up, or his own, until he had a better idea. Besides, he had no idea what had been going on in Ballarat since he'd left, and he certainly didn't want to make things harder for her. He had gotten himself into this mess, and he would get himself out.

It was mid-December before he could afford fare to Bendigo. He had considered stowing away on a train as he'd done on that cargo freighter to Darwin. But that had been in a foreign land he had no hope of escaping from, and he was too weak to work. He was back in Victoria now, and his morals wouldn't allow him to take advantage.

But reach Bendigo, he did. A truck allowed him to hitchhike to Castlemaine. And from there, he walked.

The road to Ballarat was one he knew quite well. It wasn't too far. Two full days of walking in the summer sun wasn't the best use of his time, but the road was strangely lonely and no cars stopped to pick him up. He couldn't fault them. If he had been driving and seen a man with a long, scraggly beard and ragged clothes hanging off him, he probably wouldn't have stopped either.

On and on he walked, stumbling periodically in the change of gradation, thanks to shoes that were barely keeping together after nine whole months. Nine months since he'd seen his home. Nine months since he'd held his wife in his arms. Christ, he missed her. He was only a dozen or so miles away from her, now. Just a day or two more, if he could keep his strength up. He was dehydrated and starving, all he kind care from Alice Springs and Mildura long gone from him. But onward he went. He was so close. So close, he couldn't stop now.

A mantra filled his mind and kept time for his pace. "I'm on my way, I'm on my way," he muttered to himself. Through the streets of Ballarat he spoke softly to himself, looking more and more like an escaped insane criminal and less and less like a distinguished doctor with every dragging step.

He turned onto Mycroft Street and his heart caught in his throat. He was so close. "I'm on my way, I'm on my way." And when he stumbled up his very own gravel drive, he ran. He ran to the front door with the very last bit of energy he possessed.


	9. Chapter 9

Matthew had left earlier in the day to see Alice. Jean had noticed that he'd brought a small carryall with him, which gave her a little something to smile about. She doubted she'd see Matthew till Boxing Day. He hadn't said anything about it, of course, but Jean knew that as soon as she'd mentioned wanting to spend Christmas alone, Matthew wouldn't get anywhere near the house until after the holiday was over. And she loved him for his quiet understanding.

She had just settled down on the sofa with a glass of sherry—perhaps a bit early in the day for it, but no one was here to judge her—when she was rather rudely interrupted. There was a pounding on the front door that didn't please her a bit. Who on earth could be bothering her now? It was Christmas Eve, after all, and Matthew had likely told anyone who might come to call that Jean wasn't accepting visitors.

Still, she put down her drink and hauled herself up to answer the door. She'd be polite, of course, and gently ask whoever was there to kindly go away. When she opened the front door, she was confronted with some sort of dirty drifter with matted hair and beard and clothes that hadn't been changed in who could know how long. The man was doubled over, breathing heavily.

But then he looked up. He looked up, and Jean saw the man's eyes. The bluest blue she'd ever seen. The sparkling gaze she knew belonged only one place. She thought she was about to pass out.

"Jean," he croaked. Lucien leaned toward her, desperate to get closer to her, but his balance wasn't quite what it should have been. He collapsed into her arms. She caught him and sank to the floor, holding him and crying uncontrollably. Lucien himself was overcome, clutching madly at her clothes with his tears flowing freely down his face.

"Are you here? Are you real?" she sobbed, her shaking hands grabbing hold of his face so she could get a proper look at him.

He just nodded, unable to speak, unable to think. But he was home. He was in Jean's arms and he was home. And despite the fact that they were both crying and tangled up on the ground in middle of the entryway with the front door wide open and Lucien was honestly rather disgusting, Jean pulled his face toward her and kissed him. He could barely respond, but he wrapped his arms around her lithe body and willed his chapped and broken lips to press to hers in a manner that would let him know that yes, he was here and he was real.

Jean was in a fog of emotion. She didn't know what to do or what to say or what was happening. But it really was him. Her Lucien was alive, though much the worse for wear. "Lucien, my Lucien, my love," she murmured between her kisses. She didn't care at all that he was dirty and unkempt, she only cared that he was _here_.

"Oh my darling, I've missed you so much. Jeanie, I'm so sorry," he babbled with his hoarse voice, stroking his hair with his calloused hands, thrilled beyond measure just to touch her again.

She reveled in the feel of him for a moment longer, letting the blessed relief of this reality settle in. She pulled away from him slightly to wipe her face as she began to stop crying. "Lucien, you look awful," she said with a breathy laugh.

He grinned. Behind his overgrown beard, she could see his smile and the way his eyes crinkled just the same as they always did. "I didn't want to waste a single moment before I returned to you. I didn't want to stop for even a moment on my way here from Castlemaine when I left there yesterday to walk home."

"You walked here from Castlemaine?!"

"But perhaps I should have tried to take a bath or find a way to shave."

"We'll take care of all that," she assured him gently, stroking his very weathered cheek. "We can get you cleaned up." She tried not to think too hard about what he must have gone through if he'd literally walked forty miles over the last two days alone.

Lucien nodded. "A bath and a bit of water and food, if it isn't too much trouble."

"No trouble at all. Come on, let's get you sorted." Jean extricated herself from him so she could stand up and help pull him to his feet. He stumbled into her again, and she frowned. "Lucien, when's the last time you've eaten?"

"I think yesterday. I'm not sure. But a bath might be best first. I'm in no fit state to be anywhere near the kitchen."

"Alright. Come on, love." Jean tossed his arm around her shoulders and held him around his waist helping him through the house to the bathroom just like she used to do when he was drunk and needed being put to bed. The current situation was simultaneously more dire and infinitely more pleasing.

She helped him undress as she ran the water for the bath, holding onto him tightly as he slowly lowered himself down into the hot water. Jean sat down on the floor beside the tub with a flannel in her hand and softly began scrubbing the grime off his body. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, whether from exhaustion or bliss, she wasn't sure.

Jean's eyes roamed over every bit of him. Nine months ago, it was a body she knew as well as her own. Over two years, she'd seen every single part of him in nearly every way. And now, she barely recognized him. "How long has it been since you've had a bath?" she asked quietly, rubbing his chest with soaped cloth.

"A while. A family I stayed with for a few days gave me some soap and the hose out back," he replied, remembering the kindness he'd been given in Alice Springs. That must have been months ago. Time had ceased to have meaning.

"Where have you been?" she whispered, somewhat wondering to herself, somewhat asking him.

"I went to see Li. And I had trouble getting back," he answered simply. Lucien opened his eyes and looked at her, seeing her face stricken with concern. "I will tell you every single thing, my darling, I promise I will, but not just yet. Is that alright?"

Jean just nodded. "Sit forward so I can get your back," she instructed.

As she scrubbed him down, turning the bathwater a horrible dingy color, Jean remarked the change in him. He'd lost quite a bit of the burly muscle she'd so enjoyed. The golden glow of his skin had faded. There were angry red welts on his back and all over his shoulders, broken and cracked blisters on his hands and feet, and chapped sunburns on his face. Oh his poor, dear face.

"Shall I trim your hair and beard a bit?" she asked, not wanting to make demands of him too quickly, not when he was so clearly weak and exhausted.

"Yes, please. It's awful, isn't it? I haven't even seen myself in so long. I'm surprised you recognized me at the doorstep," he joked weakly.

Jean gently took the soap and cloth to his face and hair to clean it somewhat before she cut it back. "I'd recognize you anywhere, my love," she murmured in response.

And just then, Lucien looked up at her and in his eyes was that same puppy dog expression he always got whenever she touched his face. Her heart swelled in her chest and she could feel herself begin to cry again. He frowned at seeing a tear escape down her cheek. "Jean?"

"I still can't quite believe this is real. I had…" She trailed off. Now was not the time to tell him that she had just started to come to terms with his death, only to have him returned home to her. "It's been nine months, Lucien," she told him. "Nine very long months."

"I know." He didn't know, actually. He wasn't quite sure exactly how long it had been. "Nine very long months." And those months had been an eternity for him.

After he was all washed and clean, Jean wrapped him in a towel and went to find his old dressing gown. She helped him walk into the kitchen where she gave him a whole pitcher of water to drink and the bread from the box; it wouldn't do to have anything too heavy or rich introduced into his body so soon after being practically starved. As he ate, Jean trimmed back his hair and beard. They were still messy, but at least the length was presentable. And once again, he gazed at her with that expression of overwhelming love. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "To bed, I think," she suggested. Lucien nodded in agreement before stealing one more kiss from her.

Jean helped Lucien back to his old room. She kept the bed made, as it was the guest room for anyone who needed it. "Why here?" he asked, obviously hoping to go up to their marital bed in the studio.

"I don't want you worrying about stairs," she lied. Jean couldn't bring herself to tell him that she'd closed up their room, filled it with boxes and hid the memories behind the thick double doors.

Lucien settled into his old bed, but for the first time, Jean was there to settle in with him. She removed her shoes and climbed onto the bed, ensuring he was comfortable as she lay beside him, stroking his clean hair and gently tracing the new lines that had formed on his face.

"Rest, Lucien," she told him. "You're home. You're safe. We're together again, love." Jean murmured those comforting words in time with her soft touches until he fell into a deep sleep. It was early in the day, still, but Jean had no intention of getting up. She wanted to watch him sleep. Wanted to gaze at him as long as she could, fearing that if she turned away, this beautiful fantasy would disappear and leave her all alone again. And so instead, she focused intently on watching him and clinging to the beautiful dream of having him home with her.


	10. Chapter 10

Somehow, Jean had fallen asleep. She hadn't intended on it. But lying in the quiet, even if it was the middle of the day, had caused her eyes to feel heavy. It was so lovely, to fall asleep and believe Lucien was there beside her, to hold on to the clamoring desires of her lonely heart.

When she woke, the shadows were long in the room, indicating the passage of time. Jean felt warm from the inside out, remembering what it had felt like for just one moment to really believe that Lucien was home with her again. The warmth was quickly snuffed out as the bitter disappointment returned. She must have fallen asleep in Lucien's old room, too caught up in her grief. Quite enough of that.

Jean rolled over onto her back to force herself to get up. She should remake the bed, since it might need to be used by a guest one of these days. But when she turned, she gasped in shock.

It hadn't been a dream at all. Lucien was there. He was real, and he was right there, fast asleep. He really had come home to her.

As quickly as she could, Jean removed all of her clothes and got into the bed under the sheets and snuggled as close to her husband as she could. He was much leaner than when he'd left, much of his comforting bulk had wasted away during the trials and tribulations of his journey, whatever it had been. But it would all return, she had no doubt.

He hummed as he felt her draw near to him. "Jean," he mumbled with a smile.

She pressed kisses to his neck. "Lucien," she whispered in return.

Lucien had slept well for longer than he'd managed in months. He felt rested and renewed. And so, he blinked his eyes open and rolled over, taking his wife, bare and beautiful as she was, into his arms. "It hardly seems real," he said with a sense of awe, "that I could finally be home with you again."

Jean quite agreed, but she had no words to properly express it. They shared a few gentle kisses, wrapped up in the comfort of the other's presence for the first time in so very long. "How are you feeling?" she asked eventually, recalling the horrific state in which he'd arrived at the doorstep.

"Much better. Here with you, nothing much can bother me now," he replied with a fond smile.

She reached out to trace the untidy line of his rather full beard—despite having trimmed it back extensively before he'd gotten into bed. "Will you tell me now? Where you've been?"

"Only if you'll tell me everything I've missed," he countered.

And so they began trading their tales. Lucien explained how he'd faked his death, how he'd been detained en route to China. Jean told him how worried everyone was, how distraught Matthew and Alice had been, how difficult it was for her to not share the secret that his disappearance had been planned. Lucien told Jean everything about his family, of Li and Song and their beautiful children who he'd gotten to know and adore. He gave her Mei Lin's regards. Jean told Lucien how she'd worked for the Council and gotten her budget passed and pushed for her progressive agenda.

In the midst of it all, Lucien lost focus on his own story and sang Jean's praises. He asked her every single detail of her platform, of the ordinances she'd passed, how she'd won support, what she was planning next.

Jean had to chuckle and blink back her tears. "I knew it," she muttered to herself.

"Knew what, my darling?" he asked, stroking her cheek.

"I knew you'd be so proud of me."

"So proud I might burst," he assured her with a soft kiss.

But from there, Jean insisted he finish his side, tell her where he'd been and why he'd come back home to her nine months late and half-dead. And he told her the entire saga, how he'd lost all his money on the boat to the Manila, how he'd worked himself to a nearly broken back getting to Jakarta, how he'd slept on the streets till he could stow away to Darwin, how he'd hiked through the bush to Alice Springs, how the kindness of strangers allowed him to treat a young boy's disease and earn a bit of food, how he'd worked his way through Victoria and walked thirty miles home to her.

And at the end of all that, Jean cradled him to her breast and stroked his hair and kissed his temple and vowed to never, ever let him go again. He whispered his apologies into her skin, never mind that she didn't need them. "All I need is you. Right here, always," she told him.

"I love you, Jean. More than words could ever express."

Jean pulled away and gazed upon his dear face and shining eyes. "I've waited for you for such a long time. So long, I was losing hope. I…I did lose hope. I thought I'd been foolish to believe you'd come back after so long."

"I was on my way," he replied. "I was always on my way."

"I know," was all she could say in return.

They lazed about in bed together all night, talking and cuddling close and exchanging loving touches. And when dawn broke, shining through the gap in the curtains, Jean smiled and kissed her husband. "Merry Christmas, Lucien," she murmured.

"Is it really?"

"Yes, my love, it is."

Lucien grinned. "What time is everyone coming over?"

Jean laughed. Of course that would be his response. "I'll see what I can do."

They got out of bed and dressed for the day. Lucien hadn't worn his own clean clothes in longer than he could remember. In getting him dressed, however, Jean had to reveal the state of their beautiful bedroom, the boxes piled up everywhere, turning their marital suite into a storage space.

"I just couldn't bear it without you," she explained, ashamed she'd lost her faith in him.

But Lucien just put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side. "It's alright, Jean. I understand."

They shared breakfast together, not talking much now. They'd said everything they needed to. And now Lucien needed to be properly fed and Jean needed to bustle around the kitchen to take care of him, just as she always had. When they were finished, she helped him to the parlor so he could gaze upon their Christmas tree and watch a bit of television. Jean used the telephone in the kitchen to make a call.

"Hello?"

"Merry Christmas, Alice, it's Jean."

"Jean, is everything alright?" Alice asked with concern.

"Better than alright, actually," she replied, feeling positively giddy. "Can you tell Matthew that I changed my mind and want everyone to come over? Have him invite all the usual suspects, if you don't mind."

"He's right here, do you want to speak with him yourself?"

Jean smiled. Not even nine in the morning and Matthew was right there. Her suspicions about those two were certainly correct. "No, I trust you can relay the message sufficiently. I've got to go, but I hope I'll see you both later?"

"Yes, of course." Alice sounded wary, but Jean couldn't possibly care.

She hung up the phone and felt like her cheeks were starting to hurt from so much smiling. So much smiling that she was out of practice with. She hurried to the sofa to snuggle up with Lucien and keep smiling as much as she could.

Matthew and Alice arrived quite soon thereafter, both of them shocked to see a frightfully thin and disheveled Lucien Blake there to greet them. Jean could have sworn she saw Matthew shed a few tears. Alice was interrogating Lucien, demanding answers about where he'd been and why and how. Jean gave Matthew's arm an affectionate squeeze. Soon, he too was all smiles.

Guests came and went throughout the day. Cec Drury. Bill Hobart. Amy Parks. Peter Crowe. Jean noticed that Alice and Amy kept Lucien quite busy, talking and laughing, while Jean was busy going to and from the kitchen with her incessant need to feed everyone. The men kept disappearing and reappearing, but she was far too happy to be suspicious. Matthew seemed to be managing everything, and Jean trusted him.

Eventually, the day had to end. Lucien was getting tired, his stamina not what it used to be. All their guests toasted his homecoming and gave the Blakes their love and made their way back to their own homes. In the end, it was only Jean and Lucien and Alice and Matthew left.

"Right, I'll be back tomorrow. I figured you two should have a night to yourselves," Matthew said delicately, pulling himself up to stand with his cane.

"You don't need to go, Matthew, you do live here," Jean pointed out. "And Lucien arrived yesterday. We had last night alone together."

"But that wasn't in your room," he replied cryptically. "Alice and I are off."

With one last fond farewell, Alice drove Matthew and herself back to her home, leaving the Blakes alone once again.

"What do you think Matthew meant by that?" Jean asked curiously.

Lucien gave a small smile. "I'd hazard a guess that he meant we should go to our room."

His progress was still a bit slow and wobbly, so Jean had to help him a bit, but they made their way up to the studio. And Jean nearly started crying again. Everything had been hauled out and cleaned up. Their bedroom looked just as it had the day Lucien left, the last day there had been any love or joy in that room. "It's beautiful!" she breathed.

"It's perfect. And we have very, very kind friends," Lucien added.

That night, Lucien, still a bit weak in body but all too eager in spirit, made passionate love to his wife for the first time in nine months. Their movements were slow and measured, memorizing the feel of each other, relearning every sensation and every sound and every taste, etching forever on their skin. Finally, _finally_ , Jean could welcome him in the cradle of her thighs, in the soft sheets of their marital bed, in the cries of his name in her ecstasy. And when Lucien finally fell asleep, he was surrounded by the loose joy of being thoroughly satiated and completely loved. He held Jean in his arms and breathed in deeply the scent of her. She whispered her love for him in tiny kisses all over his body as she drifted to sleep. And Lucien knew he was home.

 **THE END**


End file.
